Coming Home
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: Slight AU where John met Sherlock during his time as a doctor in the army. Johnlock fluff. This isn't my first fanfic, but it's the first one I've posted to this site! Rates, reviews, and favorites are love to me.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of its characters, nor do I make any sort of profit off of them. However, if I did own them, there would be a lot less sexual tension and more John/ Sherlock kissing. Enjoy!**

John Watson woke up quickly. A person tended to, when they were in the middle of a war zone. How long had he been there? Over a year now? God, he was tired. But he needed to wake up. They needed him. He rolled out of bed and changed into his uniform. He splashed a bit of water on his face, and ran out.

He quickly made it over to the mess hall. He grabbed the required meal and a large cup of coffee and sat down. He ate quickly, trying not to gag. No one ever claimed that the food here was good, and if anyone ever did, they'd probably be immediately sent to a psych evaluation, if not a mental hospital. He drank the coffee, got up, and walked to his job.

The day passed slowly. Three more months. That's how long he had left before he could return home. See his boyfriend again. They'd met after he's been injured. A young man, with close- cropped curly dark hair and eyes that seemed to be grey, green, and blue all at once, high, regal cheekbones and an angular face. John thought he was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. "Holmes, Sherlock," the file had said. "Wounded during firefight. Shot in right leg. Expected to make full recovery, but to be sent home once recovered." It hadn't taken long for the patient to fall back in love with the doctor. What had started out as simple flirting quickly turned into something more. A rose left on the bed. A quick kiss on the forehead. Holding hands when the other patients and doctors weren't around. When he'd finally been discharged, he kissed him goodbye. John could still remember it. It is, without a doubt, the best kiss he's ever had. "Write me," he'd whispered into the beautiful man's ear. "I will," he'd said back. Then he'd left.

A week passed before John got the first letter. In it, he found out that the man he had fallen in love with also happened to be the world's only Consulting Detective. He said that he'd found a place for them to live- a nice flat, near the heart of London. He knew the landlady, and she agreed to lower the price for them. He spoke of his contacts in the New Scotland Yard, and how they were all blundering idiots who needed him. He then wrote that he loved him and signed his name. John smiled, and then wrote back.

John still kept that first letter on him at all times, as well as the others. John, stepping outside, looked at the hot sun that beat down upon the Afghanistan desert. He got ready to go on patrol.

That's the last thing he remembers, before waking up in a hospital. Pain in his shoulder. He'd been shot. He could tell. He hoped maybe that meant he could go home and see Sherlock soon. He was happy to find he could.

On the day they were reunited, Sherlock was nervous. He ran his hand through his hair, which had grown out, thank God. The standard military haircut was one that was not flattering on anyone, least of all him. He remembered the look on Detective Inspector Lestrade's face when Sherlock walked into his office for the first time since he'd been deployed, and held back a smile from the memory. "Sherlock, is that you?" Lestrade had asked, before running up to embrace him. Despite whatever he said to the contrary, Lestrade was like a father to him. He was certainly a better one than his biological one. Sherlock stopped his line of thinking right then, so as to not bring back memories he didn't want to resurface. He ran his hand through his hair one more time, before giving up and shoving his hands in his pockets. He leaned on a pillar for support. He knew he was supposed to be using his cane right now, but it sat next to him. He wanted to be able to embrace John with both of his hands the minute he got there. Which should be right now, actually. Sherlock looked around the terminal hopefully. And there he was- dirty blonde hair, deep blue eyes, bandages wrapped around his shoulder, and a smile that lit up Sherlock in a way no one else could. Sherlock quickly ran through his injuries. He deducted that the wound was more severe than he'd let on, as well as there was some psychological trauma involved too- there was a slight tremor in his hand, and a limp in his leg, although he hadn't been shot there. Sherlock was slightly worried by this, but not for long. John's eyes widened when he saw him, and then grinned at him in the way only he could. There was no shouting of names, no dramatic rushing to each other. Instead, they calmly walked towards the other, and embraced. Then they kissed. And Sherlock didn't care that there were people staring, or that a couple people had pointedly looked away. John was back. His John. And he could take him home, and never have to leave him again. John knew the man in front of him had issues- sociopathic tendencies, a callous demeanor, and a lack of regard for social niceties. He also knew that he could look at you and tell you your entire life story, and that deep inside, this man was just as human as the rest of them. He had a heart, and John could feel it beating. He looked into his lover's eyes, and saw the strange coat, the scarf, and smiled. He was home.


End file.
